A Tale of Two Christmases
by loveislouder94
Summary: Two years of Christmas with Grace, and two without her.


**I know I'm a little late, but I wanted to post something Christmas themed and POI. The first part is in response to an article on Zap2It, stating that Grace gave Finch a vest, which "started the vest thing," because wearing a vest was "in honour of the love of his life." Now all the episodes Finch wears a vest are my favourite because anything Finch/Grace is just adorable beyond words.**

2006

Outside a red-brick house in New York, snowflakes floated to the ground in a seemingly endless stream and howling winds swirled and buffeted the windows, a freezing and uninviting December day. Inside, two people sat side by side, scarcely conscious of the world beyond.

"Merry Christmas," Grace beamed, handing him a box.

He took and opened it, finding several vests inside.

"Do you like them? If you don't, that's okay… I just saw them and thought they suited you."

"I love them," he assured her, and the smile she gave him in response was the only gift he needed.

"They give you the look of a professor. I could see you teaching, actually. Maybe Art. Or Literature or IT."

"I think you might be a little biased. Don't forget to open your present."

He had thought long and hard about what to get her.

He didn't have any family, at least not any that remember him. Grace only had her parents, and her relationship with them was tense at best. Her mother had sent a short card accompanied by a small, generic gift in the mail, and Grace had sent something similar to her. They hadn't talked about it much, but Harold knew that Grace didn't look forward to Christmas.

For her, there had never been pretty lies like Santa Claus or magical elves or reindeer or presents appearing under the tree. There had only been a litany of false promises and resolutions, year after year – that her father would stop drinking, that her mother would leave him for good – until she was old enough to escape.

Harold vowed that they would create new, happy memories of Christmas together, like the ones she should have been given as a little girl, only better. He would give her stability and all the love he had to offer. He would give her the whole world if he could.

She hadn't told her parents about him, and given his secrecy regarding her, Harold couldn't exactly protest. Besides, this way he and Grace got to spend the holiday with each other, and they both preferred it that way.

This was their first Christmas as a couple. Ordinarily, Harold would spend the holiday with Nathan and his family, but this year he'd insisted they needed to be alone. Will was still adjusting to his parent's divorce, so it was a plausible excuse, and Harold had no problem brushing aside Nathan's concern.

His mission to make Grace's Christmas had begun. Initially, he'd considered booking a trip to Paris, because he knew she'd love to go back to the Louvre. He concluded that, despite how much she'd love it, he'd go for something less extravagant. The fact that she never said it out loud didn't stop him from getting the impression that him lavishing gifts on her (and his financial ability to do so) sometimes made her uncomfortable.

Delicately, she opened the card, taking care not to rip the envelope. Her eyes grew misty as she read what he'd written inside, and she hastily wiped them on the sleeve of her jumper. "Look at me, it's not even 9am and I'm emotional."

"What better time to be emotional?"

She gave a watery laugh and hugged him tightly. "At least A Midsummer Night's Dream isn't sad. With any luck I'll keep my composure during that one." He had brought her tickets to an upcoming Broadway production of one of her favourite Shakespeare plays.

"I'll bring some tissues, just in case. I also got you this - ," he handed her a package – "as a more light-hearted gift."

An amused gasp escaped her lips as she unfolded the T-Shirt and saw, in large, golden font: 'Bah, humbug!'

"A Scrooge-themed gift for the least Scrooge-like person I know."

"Thank you for coming here with me. It means so much that you would."

"As long as I'm with you, I'm exactly where I want to be."

It was later the same day, and they had bravely faced the weather and travelled half an hour to the nearest soup kitchen, where they were preparing and serving hot food to those who would have otherwise gone without.

Grace had been volunteering there – in addition to the children's home – for the past few years, and this time she'd asked Harold to accompany her. He'd said yes straight away, because even though cooking and talking to strangers wasn't high on his list of favourite things to do, spending time with Grace was number one.

"Hey, lovebirds! Smile for the camera!"

Another volunteer appeared in front of them, brandishing said object in one hand and gesturing for them to move closer together with the other.

"I think we'll need two copies of that one," Harold told her.

They kept one each, and eight years later, when Grace spent a miserable Christmas in Italy and Harold was – unbeknownst to her – doing the exact same thing on the other side of the world, she looked at that picture, and unwittingly remembered the uncertainty on the face of her kidnapper when she'd asked, "Why are you so interested in Harold? He's dead." She recalled Detective Riley's hesitation when she asked him if he'd known Harold.

Grace had told Greer that she was good at spotting lies, and she meant it. Both Greer and the Detective were hiding something, and Grace could only hope that wherever he was, Harold was happy.

2009

"Is that a list of social security numbers?"

Harold started violently in his chair, nearly spilling tea all over his computer screen. "Just some things for work. What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question, and on Christmas Eve, too." She looked concerned. "Harold, you know you can always talk to me. About anything."

"I know. I do. And I will."

"If you say so." With a stretch and a sigh, and still looking doubtful, she turned back to her bedroom and then towards him again. "It's past midnight. Merry Christmas. I'll leave you to it." She leaned in for a perfunctory kiss and Harold grabbed her hands to stop her leaving.

"I'm sorry I haven't been 100 percent here lately. Merry Christmas, Grace Hendricks. I love you."

She rested her forehead against his. "Love you, too. Even when you're more secretive than usual."

He closed his laptop and followed her out of the kitchen. Grace was the most important thing in his life. It was Christmas Day, and Nathan's concern about the numbers could wait.

2010

On December 25th Harold sat on a park bench overlooking Grace's house. She wasn't there, but it made him feel closer to her anyway, somehow made the yearning to be with her slightly more bearable. He wore the vest she'd given him and sipped from a take-away cup of Lady Grey – her favourite kind of tea.

She'd gone back to see her parents in South Carolina, so he could sit directly opposite her apartment without fear of being seen. As he gazed at the front door they used to walk through together, he reflected on the events that had led him there.

9/11. His many failed attempts at creating and controlling an AI. Eventual success with The Machine. Nathan's obsession with the irrelevant numbers. Losing Nathan. Losing Grace. Dillinger.

When he'd gone to a psychologist shortly after the ferry incident, he'd told her that he wanted to do something radical to honour Nathan, so he'd worked it all out, hired Mr. Dillinger and started saving the numbers. Except it hadn't worked too well. After only a few weeks, Dillinger was in the ground and Harold was more afraid than before.

He shouldn't have come to Grace's house. If anyone was following him, it put her on their radar, made her a target. As much as he tried, he couldn't keep his distance.

If he could explain all of this to her, she would tell him to keep helping the numbers, and to keep himself safe. She'd tell him he could find a way. And he would. To honour Nathan, and to honour her.

2014

"This is a strange place for Professor Whistler to be spending Christmas." John sat down next to him on one side, Shaw on the other.

"And an even stranger place for the two of you." Harold didn't explain what he was doing there, and they didn't ask. They didn't have to; even if they hadn't seen the picture he'd hastily stuffed in his pocket upon noticing their approach. It was obvious.

Jefferson Bridge was empty and eerily quiet at this time of day. Not quite night and not quite day, a twilight zone, an in between and a point of infinite possibilities. Grace had been walking right here, the last time he'd seen her. Things could have gone so differently if she'd taken off the blindfold, if she hadn't been wearing one at all, if shots had been fired…

"I'm a detective, Harold. Someone's got to keep the streets safe during the festive season."

Shaw smirked, adding, "I figured I've committed enough felonies for today. Time for a drink. And something to eat."

Harold knew what they were thinking – that he needed to stop mourning Grace, and move on. That his hurt was blinding him to the bigger picture. Miss Groves had even told him so the previous day. What all three of them overlooked was that it was the thought of her that urged him to stay on this perilous course, no matter what. Any one of the people they saved could have been Grace, and would mean to someone else exactly what Grace meant to him.

In truth, then, his love for Grace actually made him more focused and better at what he had to do. He only allowed himself occasional time to dwell on what might have been, and what she was doing now. On days like this or Valentine's Day or her birthday, days they should have been spending together, it was harder to push the thought of her away.

"I don't know about you boys, but I'm heading off," Shaw said, standing up. Harold was surprised she'd stayed so long.

"I'll join you," Harold responded, wincing as his back ached at the sudden movement. Sometimes he wondered what Grace would think of his limp, his injury. It was the only time it really bothered him, which was silly, because he knew she wouldn't have cared in the slightest. She'd love him just the same, as he would her. And the best way to honour her was to make a difference, one number at a time.

"If we don't have a new number yet, we'll doubtless have one soon. The Machine doesn't get a break on Christmas. Fortunately for the city of New York, neither do we."


End file.
